<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Mount Shann by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517117">Mount Shann</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1960s, Brokeback Mountain AU, F/M, M/M, also strawberry's a little less logging town and a little more ranching town, also there's no spooky alien stuff happening on mount shann, but not with THAT ending, doing cowboy stuff, just a couple of cowboys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:00:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A little ways from home, John Marston takes up a job herding sheep through Big Valley.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan, the last two may change with updates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so I messed with the canon timeline a little (but that's allowed, right?? cause this is an au) and this is supposed to take place during the year in which John runs away (not the actual YEAR, cause this takes place in the 60s and so on, but you know what I mean), so he and Arthur are just a bit younger (John - early 20s, Arthur - early 30s) Also, Arthur's engaged to Mary - which that probably happened around the time John ran away, right?? Idk. </p><p>I'm probably forgetting something else I need to specify, but feel free to comment if you're confused about anything cause I'm a little confused myself honestly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time John lays eyes on him, it’s in the little trailer office located at the entrance of the Van der Linde Ranch, a few miles outside of Monto’s Rest. </p><p>Dutch van der Line, co-owner of the ranch, introduces them with a pleased smile and kind words of encouragement. Dutch introduces John as the new ranch hand, hired for the summer to help herd sheep up through Mount Shann. </p><p>He introduces the other man as Arthur Morgan, a long-time employed ranch hand and a good friend. </p><p>Arthur comes in through the office door, just as John’s being hired on the spot for the summer sheep operation, muttering something about looking for Dutch on behalf of Hosea, the other co-owner of the ranch. Dutch waves it off and declares Arthur’s arrival as perfect timing, as if delighted by the fate.  </p><p>Arthur’s all broad-shoulders and brawn, shaggy dark-blonde hair hidden beneath a black, worn gambler’s hat. Tan, loose-fitted leather jacket and faded blue jeans. </p><p>He doesn’t register John at first, probably due to the trailer being clouded with Dutch’s cigar smoke. When his eyes do land on John, his demeanor changes as if he’s just interrupted something important and mumbles out a quick apology. </p><p>Dutch catches Arthur before he can turn and step back out of the office door, calling him in and Arthur obliges, politely enough. Dutch introduces the two of them with one hand placed fondly on Arthur’s shoulder and the other still holding a cigar, and John reaches out, shaking Arthur’s hand. </p><p>John can only imagine how the two of them look in comparison. John, scrawny and lanky with narrow hips and even narrower legs, black hair grown out down to his shoulders. His hand’s almost as big as Arthur’s, John notices absentmindedly, before returning Arthur’s tight-lipped but friendly grin. </p><p>“Arthur has been camp tender on the sheep operation for the past few summers now,” Dutch still has a hand clasped around Arthur’s shoulder, a proud look on his face. “Used to go up to Shann with one of our newer ranch hands, Mr. Summers - however, Mr. Matthews and I decided to give him some time off to be with his family.” </p><p>“How is Jenny and the baby?” Arthur inquires, and Dutch lets his hand fall from Arthur’s shoulder, the three of them gaining their own space once again. </p><p>“Just fine,” Dutch moves back behind his desk and takes a seat once again, voice still proud. “Hosea said he received a letter just yesterday, young Lenny seems to be adjusting to the role of family man wonderfully.” </p><p>“Lucky him,” Arthur mutters - more to himself,  and John notices the bitterness there. Jealousy, maybe. “Hosea’s lookin’ for you, by the way - wants to -”</p><p>“Nevermind about that,” Dutch interrupts, waving Arthur off with an exaggerated wave of his hand - the one that’s holding the cigar. Smoke follows the movement. “Now - Arthur, you know what’s to be expected: camp out near the Forest Service, be at the bridge with the supply list at noon on Fridays.” </p><p>Arthur shuts his mouth, gives an obedient nod. A man who knows his place, respectfully. </p><p>“Mr. Marston,” Dutch gestures to John, leaning forward over his desk. John realizes he’s been staring at Arthur for the past few moments and fixes his gaze on Dutch once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Arthur glance at him, like he’d noticed. “As the herder, you’ll be sleeping with the sheep, but you don’t want to attract attention from the boys down at the Forest Service, so - no campfire, pack up your tent every morning. Eat your meals back at camp.” </p><p>Dutch sends them on their way with a, “Well, I’d say it looks like you boys have this,” and John’s shaking Arthur’s hand once more outside the office trailer. </p><p>“They’ll be picking us up in the morning, so we’ll meet up back here,” Arthur says, taking his hand away from John’s to hang at his side, almost awkwardly. He glances out past the driveway and then back at John, who’s now pulled out a much-needed cigarette. “Where d’you live out at, anyway?” </p><p>“Near Great Plains,” John mumbles around his cigarette. </p><p>Arthur’s squinting at him despite the shade provided from the brim of his hat. “That’s quite a ways off from here,” </p><p>“Not really,” John shrugs. “Hour and a half at the most.” </p><p>Arthur’s hands have moved to settle on his hips, now, and he’s back to squinting at the driveway before turning his attention back on John.</p><p>“There’s a bar a couple of miles from here, you up for a few drinks?” Arthur asks, and John’s gotta say, he’s a bit surprised at the invitation. </p><p>They take Arthur’s faded blue F100 and John hops in the passenger’s seat with a, “Only if you’re buying,” and then - when Arthur fixes another squinted gaze on him, “I’m only joking.” </p><p>They pull up to a small bar outside of Strawberry, one that the drink-loving residents of Strawberry probably frequent seeing as Strawberry is more or less a dry town. And John’s right, it’s crowded - but they manage to find two stools at the bar beside each other and Arthur orders two beers, one for him and passes the other one to John. </p><p>John quirks an eyebrow at this, in light of his earlier comment, but gives a nod of appreciation. </p><p>“How long you worked at the ranch?” John asks. </p><p>Arthur seems more interested in staring down at his bottle than actually drinking from it. John’s already taken a couple of swigs from his. He seems uncomfortable, although his posture doesn’t let on. </p><p>John’s noticed how straight Arthur stands, how confident his walk is - all a strong comparison to the way John always finds himself slouching, and how watching Arthur climb out of his truck and saunter up to the bar makes him realize he just doesn’t have the same gait. </p><p>Arthur shrugs, seems to snap out of his trance. “Dutch and Hosea took me in when I was just a boy, been pullin’ my weight around the ranch ever since.” </p><p>“You were an orphan?” </p><p>Arthur’s gaze is still cast downward, finally taking a drink and then resorting to picking at the bottle. “Somethin’ like that - my mother died when I was real young and - well, my father died eventually after that.”</p><p>He glances up at John, fingers moving to wrap around the brim of his own hat. “This was somethin’ of an old family heirloom,” and he smiles, quick, fleetingly. Chuckling at his own joke. “Belonged to my father before he passed.” </p><p>John considers this, his own smile lingering just a bit longer. “I was an orphan, too.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Arthur’s not looking at him anymore. </p><p>“Yeah, lost both parents by the time I was eight years old,” John’s stuck between glancing down at his own hands and over at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. “Been on my own pretty much since then.”  </p><p>“Sorry,” Arthur offers, but John waves it off. </p><p>Things fall silent between the two of them, save for the sound of the bar’s atmosphere surrounding them. Loud chatter between patrons, muffled music. </p><p>John lets himself look at Arthur again, who’s staring straight ahead this time at something behind the bar. John takes the opportunity to take in the other man’s profile. Aquiline nose that looks like it’s been broken a few times. High cheekbones and strong jaw hidden by light stubble. A scar that runs across his chin, disrupting the growth of stubble. </p><p>Arthur turns his head and catches John staring, but doesn’t let on. “What about you? What’d you do before today?” </p><p>John clears his throat, shifts a little in his seat. “I helped a few years down at Pronghorn, but that kinda fell through.” </p><p>Arthur nods, but he’s looking at John again and John feels himself grow uneasy under Arthur’s gaze. He lights another cigarette, fidgets with his Zippo lighter, stares down at the bar with arched eyebrows like he’s the one that has something on his mind now. </p><p>Arthur doesn’t ask questions, just pulls out his own cigarette and asks for John’s lighter with a polite, “May I?” </p><p>John lights it for him, which Arthur probably didn’t intend but he smiles at him again - just as quick as the last one. John smiles back. </p><p>Maybe the summer up on Shann won’t be so bad, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please ignore the way this chapter shifts between perspectives, I honestly didn't even realize I had done that until I read back over it, and I kinda like it, so I might keep that writing style idk. </p><p>John's home at Beecher's Hope has already been built during this time, but the barn hasn't (bc honestly fuck that barn) so John doesn't have his little farm up and running yet. (And also the mortgage is paid bc leaving Abigail with an unpaid bank loan would be kinda fucked up, even for John)</p><p>Some more things have been explained in this chapter so I hope everything makes a little more sense, but as always, if you have any questions, please feel free to comment. And thank you for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pronghorn’s only had maybe twenty or thirty sheep at the most during the summer. </p><p>The headcount for Dutch’s sheep that John and Arthur were herding up to Shann went up to a thousand. The red-haired ranch hand that picked them up and dropped them off at the trailhead counted them off with ease. Arthur had introduced him as Sean. </p><p>“You don’t look like much of a shepherd,” Sean tells John as he shows him how to pack the mules. </p><p>“I don’t look like much of anything, friend,” John secures the last riding load onto one of the mules and throws his saddle over the horse given to him. A Hungarian Half-bred by the name of Old Boy. </p><p>Arthur’s closeby, riding on a Missouri Fox Trotter. He’s rounding up what’s left of the sheep while two dogs chase after him, all excited little yips.  He throws a half-smile in John’s direction, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Marston, we’ll make a shepherd of you, yet.” </p><p>And Arthur’s true to his word, because soon enough - John, along with a string of extra horses, mules, three dogs from the ranch, and thousand ewes are hiking up the trail with him. Up and through the trees, over the streams, and into the meadows. </p><p>They make it up near the Forest Service before dusk and Arthur helps John set up camp. They chop wood for the campfire, John brings up buckets of water and Arthur pitches up a tent. Dusk rolls in after the sunset in warm shades of purple and orange, then all fade into a darker blue, leaving the clouds still tinged with pink. </p><p>John sets up his own tent close to the sheep with just enough light to spare and the cool night air breezes around him. Arthur’s campfire is merely an orange glimmer on the mass of the mountain. John smokes a cigarette, seated just outside the opening of his tent, and lets himself stare off at the speck until the mountains turn black, along with the sky above. </p><p>Breakfast is potatoes and beans - cooked over the fire, and biscuits. Arthur self-elected himself to take over the cooking while John, still weary from lack of restful sleep, sits back on the grass a few feet away and watches. </p><p>Arthur doesn’t look up much, just peers down at the fire with the same tired expression John feels himself sporting, as well. His hat’s off, probably left behind in the tent, leaving a strand of hair to hang over his forehead and stop right at his brow. His hair is well-slept on, but his change of clothes is neat, like they were folded properly before Arthur put them on. </p><p>John assumes himself to look a mess in comparison. </p><p>“Someday I’m gonna get my own ranch up and runnin’,” John says through a yawn, and Arthur looks up at him - like he’s just now noticed the company. “Have my own sheep and someone else to herd ‘em.” </p><p>“I’d like to have that, too, one day,” Arthur says, scraping out some of the cooked potatoes from the skillet onto a metal plate. “I got a woman back in Valentine - we’re gettin’ married in the spring, maybe we could have that - a small farm or somethin’.” </p><p>“I’ve got one, too - or, had one, I guess,” John takes the plate as Arthur offers it to him, takes a biscuit from the tin Arthur had packed in his satchel. “She had a baby a few months back, and well, I ain’t too sure it’s mine.” </p><p>Arthur looks surprised at John revealing this bit of personal information, eyebrows raised high on his forehead as he scrapes out the last of the potatoes onto his own plate. “Shit.” </p><p>They eat in a beat of silence, both of them trying to think of something to say, or whether to say anything at all, and Arthur is the first to break. </p><p>“Is that what’s brought you to the ranch, then?” </p><p>“More or less,” John shrugs. A lot of things brought him to the ranch. Quitting Pronghorn and leaving Beecher's to go and run off after one too many fights with Abigail, without so much as a goodbye. A lot of stupid decisions have brought him to this point. </p><p>Arthur doesn’t say anything else. Knowing best when a subject is to be left alone. </p><p> </p><p>A week passes, days filled with bright skies and sparse clouds. A routine is formed of John checking for coyotes, Arthur making breakfast, tending to the sheep, gathering wood for the fire, Arthur making dinner, and the two of them falling asleep in their own tents. </p><p>The fire’s warmer than the little bit of heat leftover from the afternoon, still barely lingering around well up in the evening when the sky is full of heated colors. On Friday, Arthur leaves to meet Sean for supplies and comes back with two mules loaded down with various canned goods and other assortments. </p><p>Arthur suggests fishing after the two of them quickly grow tired of the canned peaches, beans, and salted offal. John’s never been quite the fishing type, and after begrudgingly admitting his fear of water is a result of his lack in the ability to swim, Arthur’s up for hunting instead. </p><p>“Grown man not knowing how to swim,” Arthur’s chuckling from behind him, watching John aim his rifle at a nearby unsuspecting elk. “Don’t know how you’ve made this far in life, Marston.” </p><p>John brings the elk down with one shot to the head, clean and damn near perfect. Arthur doesn’t so much as make another jab, instead complimenting him on his sharp eye with an approving look and a supportive hand on his shoulder. </p><p>Dusk has already settled when they’re back around the campfire, cooking and eating the meat from the end of their knives, pleased and calm. </p><p>The mood’s light and warm compared to the chilling winds surrounding them, all satisfied grins aided by their whiskey supply and sparse tipsy laughter. </p><p>Arthur’s leaned forward, poking at the fire to keep it going, a smile still lingering on his lips from whatever half-thought out joke John’s just made. “Y’know, here’s somethin’ I ain’t figured out - how are you living back in the Great Plains but workin’ all the way up at Pronghorn as a ranch hand?” </p><p>John looks at him, mirroring his smile before taking a sip from the flask in his hand. “Didn’t think you cared enough to be interested in figuring me out.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re plenty interesting, Marston,” Arthur says once the fire is rekindled to his liking. “Some city boy waltzing in down at the ranch like he’s got somethin’ chasing after him. I’d say you’re damn near captivating.” </p><p>“I ain’t no city boy,” John’s still smiling, and so is Arthur. Like they’re still tossing jokes and other crude humor back and forth. “the way Abigail tells it, I ain’t much of anything.” </p><p>“And you’re running off, leaving her behind with a newborn baby to do what? Prove her wrong?”</p><p>“She and that baby are better off without the likes of me,” John’s smile falters, as if this conversation is enough to sober him up. His tone turns accusatory, defensive. “She and I both know it, she just as much said so herself.” </p><p>“Fine,” Arthur can’t help but laugh at the shift in the conversation, and the way John looks like he’s about to pout like a five-year-old child. He puts his hands up, feigning surrender. “forget I asked.” </p><p>The conversation is dropped and things go quiet for a moment until John’s sighing, taking another sip from his flask, and failing to fight off the smile that’s threatening to reappear. </p><p>He looks at Arthur, chuckling at himself, shaking his head at his own willingness to fold. “The Geddes was kind enough to let me stay at the ranch occasionally, save me from makin’ the commute.” </p><p>“And you couldn’t find work any closer to home?”</p><p>John’s tone is earnest compared to his expression. “No one would have me.” </p><p>Arthur’s sure that’s a lie. Ranch hands as young, strong, and sharp-shooting as John weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Especially with that youthful charm John seems to carry around with him like it fits right in his pocket, paired with a handsome face not yet marred with wrinkles or imperfections - Arthur’s almost positive John could practically talk himself into a job. </p><p>It’s not like he had any trouble finding work with Dutch. </p><p>“You ain’t so straightforward yourself, Morgan,” John’s breaking the silence between them once again, that defensive edge back in his voice. “What’s your woman doing all the way back in Valentine while you’re living at the ranch?”</p><p>Arthur doesn’t really feel like having all the attention focused on his side of the fence, but he obliges, seeing as John answered his questions. </p><p>“Her folks didn’t go for the whole ‘pre-marital roommates’ idea, nor did she,” Arthur says. “Mary’s real - proper, I guess - anyway, it’s not like they think I’m good enough to marry into their family, so, I take what I’m given.” </p><p>“I don’t think I’m much of the marryin’ type,” John says. </p><p>Arthur shrugs. “Been married before. Back when I was barely in my twenties, and me and Eliza - we didn’t get along too well and she divorced me.” He says, looking back down at the fire, as if the memories of his failed marriage were dancing with its flames. “We have a boy together, Isaac - every other weekend I bring him down to the ranch and he helps out.”  </p><p>John’s peering down at the fire, too, maybe due to the lack of words his brain seems to be providing for a response. He thinks about Abigail back home, the clear look of disappointment etched into her features that seems so commonplace. </p><p>He hears Arthur breathe out a laugh, an almost winded sort of chuckle and glances back up at the other man.</p><p>“Shit,” Arthur’s smiling, leaning back a little on the log. “I ain’t used to talkin’ this much. Especially rattling off my whole goddamn life story.”</p><p>“I won’t tell your secrets,” John smiles back at him. “Coyotes might, but I won’t.”</p><p>Arthur notes the same way John pronounces the word like “kai-oats”, a habit that Dutch and Mary have scolded him on many times before in the past.  </p><p>Arthur laughs again, and John likes the sound of it. Clear and bright, but raw enough that John realizes it’s something he doesn’t do often. </p><p>He likes the way Arthur’s eyes wrinkle at the sides when he laughs, as if there’s as much kindness and warmth in them as there is in his smile. </p><p>It makes it just a bit harder for John to wipe the dopey grin off his own face, and it doesn’t fully disappear until the fire dies down and he’s returning to the sheep, leaving Arthur to get some rest.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>